


Lord Scoundrel

by rinskiroo



Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2020 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alderaan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, Scoundrels, fancy party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinskiroo/pseuds/rinskiroo
Summary: AU where Han and Leia meet at a fancy ball on Alderaan.  For the FFC prompt "Regency AU or Classical References."  Kind of ended up feeling like the start of a regency era romance novel. :shrug:
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622110
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2020





	Lord Scoundrel

There’s a ball—a beautiful ball. One of many Palace Organa will host throughout the season, and this one is for the dawning of the new year; a fresh arc around the star of Alderaan. It’s the time when sins of the past or embarrassments of childhood are swept away; the ledger is clean and better choices can be made. Princess Leia of House Organa sighs a happy little sigh and lets her shoulders relax, enjoying the feeling of the extravagant shimmersilk wrapped around her. Whatever worries had plagued her melt away and she embraces the idea of starting anew. Well, almost.

“Viceroy,” she smiles at her father as he slips his arm under hers.

“Princess,” he responds and gives her a quick wink.

They’re using their titles in jest, both knowing how silly they sound talking so formally. But, it’s for the benefit of the pageantry of the event, and the Queen. Leia’s mother has infinite more patience and grace for these sorts of obligations, but Leia and her father have promised to be on their best behavior.

Together, they speak with various politicians, nobles, titans of industry, and other people of some renown who had made significant impact on Alderaanian culture throughout the year. It isn’t long until the receiving line turns into would-be suitors.

“Papa,” Leia grumbles under her breath after the Prince-Regent of some far flung moon bows before her and moves further down the line to talk to someone else.

“I know,” her father responds, trying to keep the smile on his face. “Just say ‘thank you,’ dance with a couple of the cute ones, and we keep the peace for another year.”

“ _Papa_ ,” she complains again. Before the next Princeling can smile and try to kiss her hand, Leia takes a wobbling step backwards and lifts a dainty hand to her forehead. “I think I need some air. No, no, good sirs, don’t leave the ball on my account.”

She hears her father sigh and apologize to the people around him as Leia quickly extricates herself from the situation, deftly dodging the nosy, pompous fools. She knows Palace Organa like the back of her hand and all the best ways to slip out unnoticed. She finds one of her favorite spots—the balcony overlooking the eastern gardens. There’s a fountain in the shape of flying fish that catches the moonlight at just right angle to make it look like a shower of sparkles.

Unfortunately, as she comes around the corner, _someone_ has intruded on her spot. His back is to her as he leans his elbows on the railing and she can’t discern his house colors or other identifiable livery, though he’s dressed well enough with high polished black boots and a half cape hanging over his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she says. Removed from the party, her voice takes on an annoyed edge.

The man turns and Leia straightens her shoulders. She certainly was not thrown off by his roguishly handsome features or the brown, wavy hair, dark eyes, and definitely not the hand-rolled spice stick hanging from between his perfectly shaped lips. Smoking was absolutely disgusting and did not make him look sexy and mysterious, _not at all_.

“This is my spot,” she tells him, hands folding in front of her—commanding, regal, just the way she was taught.

The man glances around, like he’s unsure he’s the one she’s addressing. “Does it have your name on it?”

Leia’s eyes widen and she scoffs. “Yes, it does.”

“Well,” he says as he takes a drag of his spice and flicks ash off the end. “Then you need this more than me.” He grins at her as he holds out the contraband.

“How did you even get that in here?” she asks in astonishment. Well, it’s not like they search their guests, but she can’t imagine any of their usual company to be so bold. “Never mind,” she decides, she doesn’t want to know. And what does he even mean that _she_ is the one who needs to partake? Determined not to let this cad further ruin her already terrible night, Leia stands next to him primly and looks down at the gardens and fountain below.

“Don’t like parties, Princess?” he asks after another drag and puff of smoke.

“I enjoy parties just fine, it’s the company I find undesirable.”

“Ah, makes sense then why you’re out here with me rather than inside.”

Leia scoffs again and rolls her eyes. The audacity of some men, but this one in particular. “I’m enjoying the view,” she tells him, to which he snickers and she tries to not blush. That was _not_ the view she meant. “You, sir, are a scoundrel and a cad, and I would much prefer the company of the nice men inside.”

She huffs and she wants to stay because this is _her_ spot, but he’s completely ruined her evening. With the shake of her head that maybe she can feign an illness and go back to her rooms early, she turns and starts to head back inside. However, the stranger ruins her plans for that too because he touches her wrist and is suddenly too close.

“I think a scoundrel is just the sort you need, Princess. Show up all those stuff shirts in there.”

“You are too bold, sir,” she tells him, but doesn’t move. She feels her heart rate pick up, but not out of any sort of fear, because she knows with one scream, she could draw all of the palace guard. It’s excitement and intrigue and not a bit of shame for letting herself feel these wanton emotions.

The man pulls back and shrugs like he wasn’t just making some inappropriate advance on the Queen’s daughter. “I was only offering to help get some of those fools off your back. I’m a royal-repellent.”

“You got that right,” she says under her breath, but considers his offer. One dance would mean she’s at least considering suitor’s offers. And maybe even get certain less-than-committed parties off the chase for awhile. “All right,” she agrees after a moment, “one dance.”

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” he asks with a devil of a grin that she should not find so alluring.

“I will not tell the palace guard you smuggled outlawed substances into the Queen’s home.”

“That’s a good of a deal as any,” he agrees quickly and smothers the lit end of his spice stick and shoves the leftover blunt into his pocket.

“Have them play a waltz and announce us,” she tells a doorman as they walk back into the ballroom, arms linked though still standing a respectable distance apart.

“And this is…?” the doorman prompts.

There’s a cough from the man as he gives his name quietly. It doesn’t stay quiet for long, of course.

“Princess Leia Organa and Lord Han Solo,” the doorman booms as the waltz begins.

Leia can feel him tense at her side; the veneer of his smug coolness starting to wear thin. A mischievous grin has already started to form on her lips at how things have suddenly turned. “I can’t believe you didn’t know who I was,” she whispers as she pulls him towards the wide open dance floor.

There are whispers as they begin—no one seems to know who this Lord Han Solo is. And Leia can instantly tell that he’s never danced before, at least not a traditional ballroom dance. He’s good at following her lead though, and doesn’t step on her toes as she pulls him through the steps. Her father always told her a lot could be learned from a person by the way they dance, and she finds this Han Solo to be _quite_ interesting.

“Are you really a Lord?” she asks him quietly, an eyebrow raised as if she already knows the answer.

There’s a moment where she sees him considering another little white lie, but from the commotion that’s started to circle around the room, he seems to change strategies. “Lord of the underground swoop-racer circuit, perhaps. I’m Prince stick-up-his-arse’s driver.”

“Which one is he?” she asks with a laugh because that hardly differentiates them. Leia turns him as the tempo of the music changes and fixes one particularly annoying Princeling with a withering glare, warning him not to ruin her moment no matter how it hurts his pride. There will be hell to pay later for that, but she wants to enjoy this moment and no one is taking it away from her.

“You’re in luck, sir,” she tells him and moves closer into his, so far modest, embrace. “As Princess, I grant you lordship over the eastern gardens.”

“Uhh, thanks?” he stammers in confusion. “Why?”

“I’ve decided I could use more scoundrels in my life.”

“What if I turn out to be a respectable, nice guy?” he asks her with a cheeky grin.

“That will be the day _I_ join an underground swoop-racing circuit.”


End file.
